


Chameleon

by westernsunset



Category: Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Attempted Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-15 02:36:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18489547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westernsunset/pseuds/westernsunset
Summary: moments from Lindhall Reed's life and past that shaped him into the person he is.--written for Individual Character Week at fief goldenlake!





	Chameleon

“Hello my dear,” Lindhall said, gently placing a cricket in the changing lizard’s cage. He was still trying to figure out what this lovely new creature liked to eat. He was so enamored with this lizard, which could alter its color to suit the environment, but he was worried his new friend wasn’t eating enough. Today he was trying one bug at a time, with apologies to the live cricket.

He was still getting used to the new animals in Carthak. He’d studied them when he was at the school in the City of the Gods, but reading about them and seeing them were two completely different things. Being able to interact with these new creatures, learn first-hand what made them happy and healthy, that made him feel like coming to Carthak had been worthwhile.

And he was thankful he had the animals, because meeting people had been challenging. Lindhall hadn’t lost the reticence he needed to survive in the North. Scanra was a tough country, and the studious, sensitive Lindhall had never quite fit in. He wished he could have been like his friend, the color-changing lizard and adapt to save himself from judgement or danger, but it had never worked like that for him.

—

He remembered being five years old, spending hours in the woods outside of town rather than subjecting himself to the other boys his age. He’d watch the minnows and tadpoles in the small streams and ponds, sit quietly until birds would land on trees near him, listen carefully and imitate their calls. His gentleness, so ridiculed back in town, was an asset out in the woods. He’d wait quietly, extending his hand ever so slowly until squirrels and other small creatures would come and sniff it. 

One day, as he was walking on one of his well worn paths, he heard a quite peeping. Another boy would have missed it, walked right past, but Lindhall—Erik, as he was known then—stopped and stooped over to see what the matter was.

There was a little nest on the ground, with a tiny bird in it. It couldn’t have been more than a couple weeks old. Erik looked around for the chick’s parents, where the nest may have been. Some sticks still hung from a nearby tree, a hint as to what had happened.

“Are you all alone now?” Erik asked the little bird, kneeling nearby. He didn’t want to scare the chick by looming over it. The chick peeped in response.

“I’m going to pick up your nest,” Erik said, inching towards the bird. “I’m not going to hurt you, but it may be scary. But I’m just going to take you back home, it’s not safe out here for a little bird like you.”

The bird didn’t protest, and let Erik ease the nest into his hand. He wished he had a handkerchief, or another bit of cloth, he didn’t know how he’d get the nest back to his house. And he didn’t want to touch the bird, he didn’t know if his hands would hurt it. So he just balanced the nest in his palms, and walked slowly out of the woods and back into town.

Turning out of the woods, his heart sank. Some of the local boys were playing on the edge of the woods, shoving each other, tossing a ball around, making fun. He looked around hurriedly, but in the more open plain, there was nowhere for him to go where the boys wouldn’t see them. It was either back to the woods or through the boys, and he had to get back to town to care for his new bird.

He tried to walk around the boys, not so much that they would notice, but just casually, like he’d been planning on taking that route anyway.

“What ‘cha got there, Baby Erik?” The boys had spotted him, but Erik didn’t turn around, just looked down at his baby bird and whispered, “don’t worry, we’ll be home soon.”

“Who’re you talking to?” Erik recognized the voice as Lars, a boy one year older than him who seemed to delight in picking on those younger and smaller than he was.

“Let’s see it,” Monulf lunged for the nest in Erik’s hand. Thankfully, Erik was fast and dodged him just in time.

“Stop!” Erik shouted as the boys jostled him, and he hunched over his new charge. Lars and his friends laughed and imitated his whine, the light lisp he had whenever he said words with an S. 

“Is Baby Erik going to cry?” Lars said. 

Erik did feel like he was going to cry, but he wouldn’t give Lars the satisfaction of knowing that. He tried to walk faster, stop the boys from getting the nest, but he wasn’t fast enough.

“What are you hiding?” Vigar snaked his hand between Erik’s body and the nest and yanked it away.

The three bigger boys peered into the nest laughing. “Give it back!” Erik shouted, his voice feeling embarrassingly high and close to tears.

“What if we don’t?” Lars jeered, holding the nest. “Oh no!” he joked, pretending to drop the next but catching it right at the end.

Erik felt angrier than he’d ever been. It was one thing for these boys to pick on him, but this bird hadn’t done anything to them. To hurt the bird, or to pretend to hurt the bird was just cruel. Erik felt all the rage boiling up in him, spilling out of his hands, the top of his head, every pore in his skin.

“Stop!” he shouted again. His voice sounded stronger now, the boys had actually turned, were moving slower than before, and a thick fog had settled around them, even though it was a sunny day.

“What did you do?” Lars sounded like he was trying to be angry, but sleep was overtaking his voice. The other two boys were yawning, and soon fell to the soft grass. Erik ran to catch the nest just in time.

The three boys were fast asleep, even though the gray fog was dissipating. If Erik wasn’t mistaken, it was going back into his hands, his body. He bit his lip (how would he explain this to his mother?) and ran home, careful not to jostle his new bird too much.

—

After word of Lindhall’s stunt went around the town, the local healer came and tested him for magic. He could do everything children with the Gift could do, make fire, move pictures, but the gruff healer was unimpressed.

“Can’t see how you put three boys to sleep,” she said. “It’s an advanced spell, and you don’t seem to have any more magic than normal. But you still have to come to me for training with the other children.”

Erik nodded. It was exciting to learn about something else, and he knew the healer made her own medicines, which he had always been curious about.

He’d been a quick study, even the healer had to admit that. He seemed to have an endless capacity for memorization, never forgetting what was in a medicine. Soon, the healer grudgingly brought him into some of her more challenging healings, his soft voice would calm people down, particularly those who were too young or too sick to know what was going on.

It was also clear that he didn’t necessarily have a Gift for healing. As good as he was, he didn’t show aptitude like Runa did, a girl two years older than him who could already heal minor bruises on her own. Erik could make himself heal, but it didn’t come naturally. He didn’t know what types of magic would, but he liked the work, and he knew he was helpful so he started splitting his free time between the woods and the healer’s house.

One day, he found a squirrel with a broken leg and brought it to the healer’s house. “Can you do anything about this? He’s really hurt,” Erik said, holding his new friend up to the healer.

“Don’t be silly,” the healer said. “I don’t have time to be going around fixing every little hurt an animal gets.”

Erik felt tears prick behind his eyes. He hated the idea of sending the squirrel out to die. “C—can I at least use some of your supplies to help him?”

“Don’t use too much,” she said, and turned back to her work.

Erik set the squirrel down on a soft cloth, and gathered some little wood for splints. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I don’t know much but I guess I’ll do my best.” The squirrel looked up at him with his small eyes, looking scared and desperate. It tugged at Erik’s heart, the same tug he’d felt when the boys were messing with the bird’s nest, but a more muted one. The gray fog left his hands, his eyes clouded a little, and he felt the squirrel twitching beneath his hands, now standing on two strong legs.

The squirrel twitched his nose, and rooted around in Erik’s pockets for a snack. Erik’s eyes were wide. Not a minute ago, the leg seemed broken beyond repair and now, it was like nothing had happened.

“I’ll be,” said the healer. “Looks like you can heal after all. Just not humans, apparently.”

—

There was a reason he’d chosen Reed as his mage name. His light voice, so mocked by his peers, turned out to be incredibly effective when working with animals, or even frightened humans. He could put creatures of all types at ease with his calm manner, sure hands, and the soft, breathy voice that used to mark him as such a target. One of his lovers at the City of the Gods had said Erik’s voice reminded him of the sound of wind passing through reeds on a serene pond. It had been sappy, but it was something he thought back on when it came time to pick a new name.

—

He had tried to change. No, that wasn’t quite accurate. He’d always wished he could change. He wanted to change so badly, he’d practiced it. He’d tried to imitate the way all the other boys walked, the way they talked, how they ran and played. But he always forgot, slipping back into his own voice and step, the one that marked him as different from everyone else.

Once, he’d overheard someone talking to his father when he was supposed to be out of earshot. “Thank Mithros you have another one,” the man said. “Satve to do the warrior work and Erik for the women’s work.”

Erik watched and held his breath, wondering how his father would react. Scanran men didn’t take insults lightly, and he wondered if his father would hit this man for talking that way about his son.

But his father just laughed. “Someone has to cook for us!” Erik bit his lip hard. To cry now would be to confirm everything. It would prove his father was right, that he wasn’t cut out for battles or war, that he was only fit to stay at home, cook and make medicines. That he was an embarrassment for a son who dishonored his name.

So he didn’t cry. But he didn’t change either. He would try, but he couldn’t make it stick. Even a chameleon has its natural colors.

—

For the most part, his magic showed itself only around animals. As good as he was at healing, water magic, charms, everything that healers and mages in town taught, his real power came out when he was with animals. With one notable exception.

He was twelve years old, in the woods as usual, checking on a nest of voles. He expected their young to be born any day now, and he had never seen a baby vole. He’d gained the trust of the parents, who were more than happy to see him, as long as he came with a soft word, maybe a berry or two.

Spending so much time in the woods, Erik learned the sounds. When he heard a twig break, he knew it had been broken by a human, there were no animals that heavy in his woods. He turned just in time for Lars to tackle him to the ground.

He couldn’t see how many boys there were, and he couldn’t close his ears to their taunts. He’d been held down and beat up by them before, but this felt different. This felt more sinister.

“Oh stop struggling Erik, we know its what you want,” a voice said.

Not that. Not like this, part of him thought. Erik kicked, wiggled, tried so hard to get the boys off of him, he didn’t even notice the gray fog (which he now knew was his Gift) rising off his body like steam. He wouldn’t have noticed it at all except the boys started to choke, took their hands off Erik and tried to beat the magic away.

“You’re going to kill us!”

Good, Erik thought, for just a moment. But instead, he took a deep breath, called off as much of his magic as he could, and ran away.

A week after that, he was sent to the City of the Gods. Everyone said it was for further training but he knew his town was no longer safe for him. And no longer safe with him in it.

—

He hadn’t just come to Carthak because of the generous salary and the chance to meet new creatures. He’d heard the rumors about the tolerance for people like him, and it was worth it to go, on the off-chance it might be true. It had to be better than living with the low hum of fear.

—

Erik was suited to an academic life, and his power flourished when he wasn’t always the target of rage. Before his first month had finished, one of his instructors clucked that his village healer must not know anything, to send such a promising student with such a bad recommendation. Erik didn’t know how to explain it wasn’t her fault, it was everything. He didn’t have the words.

He was still odd. He still liked animals better than people. He was still marked as different. 

Boys need to prove themselves everywhere, and a good way to ensure you’re not the one picked on is to pick on someone smaller and weaker. Or, since Erik had grown rapidly, someone taller but weaker. It was nothing like home, but a foot here or there to trip him in class or the dining hall, whispered taunts about him, stifled laughs when he passed by. It was part and parcel of life for him now. Death by a thousand cuts, if he was inclined to be dramatic (he wasn’t. Not usually).

There were boys as he got older. Boys who could hide what Erik so obviously telegraphed, who came to him for advice or companionship. It was better than nothing. But it wasn’t friends. And he learned the hard way that sometimes the boys he kissed at night would be the boy who taunted him most viciously in the morning.

“They can’t help it,” he’d murmured to one of the kittens he’d been taking care of. “They don’t know any better, I guess.” The kitten butted his hand, either in a solidarity gesture, or in the hopes of more milk.

—

“There we go,” he said to his color-changing friend. Finally, the lizard was eating and seemed happier than ever. “I knew we’d find it.”

“Master Lindhall,” came a voice at the door.

“My apologies,” Lindhall said, turning. “I didn’t hear you come in, I was so focused on—”

“Who is this beauty?” Lindhall appreciated his visitor’s use of “who” instead of “what.” Too many people didn’t see animals as equal life forms, and people could easily endear themselves to him by showing extra care to animals.

Ramasu—Lindhall finally remembered his name—leaned close to the glass. 

“This is a color-changing lizard. I don’t know if he has a name,” Lindhall responded. “Would you like to hold him?”

“Very much,” Ramasu took the lizard in one of his broad hands. “I don’t think this one has a name yet, which means you’re free to name him as you see fit. He certainly seems happy in your care.”

Lindhall smiled lightly. “That’s kind of you to say.”

“I’m not just here to see these beautiful creatures though that is a bonus. I wanted to see how you were settling in,” Ramasu gave the lizard back to Lindhall to put back in the glass cage.

“Just fine, thank you,” Lindhall said politely.

“It’s a big adjustment, I’d imagine,” Ramasu said, leaning on one of the nearby tables. Lindhall shrugged.

“It’s been interesting. And I love the work.”

“Well that’s good. Have you taken in much of the city?”

“When I have a chance.” That wasn’t true. Lindhall had gone into the city around the University only once or twice since coming to Carthak.

“Do you have plans tonight?” Ramasu asked.

Of course he didn’t. Lindhall shook his head.

“Would you like to come to my home? My husband is an amazing cook, and he always wants to meet new mages at the university.”

Lindhall blinked rapidly. He’d anticipated a relaxing of taboos in Carthak but not to this extent. Husband? 

“Yes, Northerners usually react that way. If they’re polite,” Ramasu laughed.

“I—I’m sorry it’s—”

“Please, don’t worry. You’re getting used to a new land.”

“I’d love to have dinner with you both,” Lindhall said. Ramasu smiled, and beckoned Lindhall to follow him. Lindhall felt a tiny weight lift from his shoulders. A small dent in the walls that had protected him his whole life. A small way forward out of fear that had dogged at him his whole life. A chance to live in his true colors. He followed Ramasu out the door, feeling a little bit of fear fall away with every step.


End file.
